


moment of epiphany

by librarymontage



Category: Another Country (1984)
Genre: Drinking, Judd's Self Imposed Teenage Angst, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Play Canon, Post-Canon, Public School Politics, references to alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28776585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarymontage/pseuds/librarymontage
Summary: Judd and Menzies have learned the way to poke each other’s bruises and leave the damage that will last the longest.
Relationships: Tommy Judd/Jim Menzies
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	moment of epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> Okay yeah this is basically the same premise as my other fic but I’m just here to have fun. Title comes from Richard Siken’s 'Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out'. Again I’m not British so please forgive any lapses in regional slang/spelling. Thanks for reading!

Only in darkness can Judd find beauty in this prison of a school. Every time he sneaks out for the library at night and finds himself alone in long, shadowy hallways with tall windows that throw crystalline beams of moonlight across the floor, he feels almost like a junior again: bewitched by a promise too good to be true, empty and fragile and false, even as it glimmers like a jewel. If he squints in the hazy light, the wooden walls around him look sturdier than he knows they are, the windows shinier, the awards and photographs in their glass cases more deserved. Thankfully, unlike most of his peers, he’s too smart to see the world like this all the time. 

Judd stops in front of one of those windows now and looks out over the silent green. Across the pointed roofs of school buildings, beyond Longfords and the chapel bell tower, he can just barely make out the lake and the trees behind it, one of his few reminders that the world isn’t just stone and brick and bleached paper. There is still something out there worth a damn. 

The other reminder is weighing down his hands— his statue of Lenin, its corners digging into the flesh of his palm with a cold bite. He can’t afford to get distracted now; he has work to do. The Fourth Year library is just ahead. Judd loves the Fourth Year library, not for the minuscule amount of power he has fought tooth and nail to earn within its four walls, but because, whenever the world becomes too tedious to handle, he can flee to the books and shelves and dim lights of his one, pathetic refuge, and take the time to look at everything clearly, logically, objectively. It isn’t much, but it’s all he has. 

Judd swings the door open silently and only manages to take one step into the room before freezing. He isn’t alone, apparently. Menzies is sitting at the window seat, his back to Judd and the door, one of his legs propped up on the seat and his chin resting on his knee, staring into the night sky through an open windowpane. It’s much too cold to have the windows open and Menzies should know that. 

“Prefects aren’t allowed to loiter in the Fourth Year library,” Judd says mechanically. 

To his credit, Menzies hides his shock well. Judd catches a slight hitch in his shoulders but he turns smoothly, placing both feet on the floor and regarding Judd with a cool stare. It isn’t until then that Judd sees what Menzies is holding: a thin, silver flask. 

“All students are required to be in their beds after lights out,” Menzies replies just as robotically. “Don’t you ever take one night off, Judd?” 

“Of course not. The forces of progress never stop, so shan’t I.” Judd pauses; he can’t tear his eyes away from the flask. “Please tell me you’re not drinking after lights out in my library. I thought Bennett was the lush in this house.” 

Menzies scoffs and takes a drink. “Oh please, my mother is an alcoholic; I would know if it was becoming an unhealthy dependence. I do know what I’m doing.”

“For Christ’s sake, then, offer me a drink.” 

That softens Menzies’ features and he holds out the flask to Judd, who crosses the library’s small floor to accept it. Judd settles onto the window seat beside Menzies and takes a swig. 

“Christ, straight vodka?” 

Menzies makes a valiant attempt at a laugh. “I tried to get some cranberry from school shop but they were out.” 

“Well, I for one appreciate your support of Soviet aesthetics.” Judd takes another drink— this one doesn’t burn as much going down— and hands it back to Menzies. “So, if you’re so sure you know what you’re doing, why are you drinking alone in my library?” 

“Coping, I suppose.” 

“With what?” 

“I don’t drink very often, but I find it helps me take my mind off. . . rather unsavory things that I prefer not to waste time thinking about.” At this, Menzies' eyes find their way to Judd’s hands, still wrapped white-knuckle tight around Lenin and Das Kapital. “It offers a welcome distraction.” 

It strikes Judd then how very small the Fourth Year library is and how close he is sitting to Menzies, so close their knees and elbows are touching. Judd can feel a steady heat emanating from Menzies’ body. Judd has always run cold, the lone lizard in a warm-blooded family, and despite himself, he finds the warmth a comfort in the chill of the library. 

“Alcoholism is a common side effect of the capitalist system,” Judd says just to have something to say. “Especially amongst the lower classes, people turn to substances in order to escape the hellish environment of working-class poverty, though the upper classes are vulnerable too as unfairly earned luxury and leisure time turn to crippling boredom and shame.” 

Menzies sighs and raises the flask to his lips again. “I think it’s your patronizing speeches that drive the upper classes to drink, Judd.” A pause. “Don’t let me distract from your work. We’re at an impasse here and I know you hate to waste any time.” 

Alright. Judd knows a dismissal when he hears one. But still. . . “You have to understand my concern, surely. Think how two suicides in one term would look for Gascoigne.” 

“Don’t pretend to care about the house now,” Menzies snaps. “As a matter of fact, I don’t understand your concern. We aren’t friends, you said it yourself, and with Bennett as he is, you’re likely risking your only friendship by speaking with me right now.” 

Judd inhales through his teeth and holds it. This is why he wouldn’t be a good prefect. He’s hopeless at dealing with the issues of others, especially when they don’t involve him, and Menzies is right. He has no clear, logical, objective reason to be concerned about this but he can’t will himself to move. 

Gently, he says, “As Hon. Sec. of this library, everything that happens in here is my business. We don’t have to be friends for me to do my duty.” 

They sit in silence for a long moment. Menzies hands the flask to Judd and Judd drinks. He feels warmer now, maybe from the vodka, maybe from Menzies’ shoulder pressed flush against his. Have they moved closer? He isn’t sure of much of anything at the moment except for how little he is making sense. He should never have sat down, he should have turned around the minute he saw Menzies sitting waifish and alone in the light of the moon, and now he was going to pay for it. In what way, he had no idea. 

“Well,” Menzies says eventually, “if friendship no longer holds any meaning, how is Bennett?” 

“Still nursing his grudge. Though I’ve nearly convinced him to read Das Kapital when I’m done, which might be the best outcome of this whole disaster.” 

“How good. We wouldn’t want Judd to get nothing out of the quarrels of others.” 

“Thanks for asking how I am. I’ve got more choice words on the matter if you care to listen.” Maybe it’s the vodka that loosens Judd's tongue, maybe it’s the barely simmering rage that ignites beneath his skin whenever he thinks of the systematic unfairness that flourishes behind public school walls, because he doesn't wait for Menzies to answer. “The others I can understand. Fowler’s been mad since the beginning, Delahay is dull as rocks and Barclay’s a misguided centrist, but you. . . you’re bloody smart and always too quiet not to be observing everything that goes on here, so why protect it? Are you really that desperate for power? Or are you willfully ignorant, happy to ignore the less than satisfactory parts of public school as much as it furthers your interests? Please, enlighten me.” 

Menzies sighs and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. Judd’s skin prickles in the cold left behind where they had been touching. He doesn’t say anything for a long time and Judd finally braves a glance to the side, taking in Menzies in profile: the regal slope of his nose, eyebrows drawn together and mouth pulled into a frown. He would have been the picture of English opulence had he not been flushed from the drink and flickering with a thinly veiled anger. 

When he finally does speak, Judd is almost too distracted by the cut of his mouth in the shadows to understand what he says. “Have you ever read Darwin?” 

“If you say the words ‘social Darwinism’ to me, I will report you to Farcical here and now.” 

“No, not that. His observations of the finches and how they always found enough food for themselves before returning to the nest with food for others. The instinct of self-preservation. Obviously, most of what Herbert Spencer was trying to claim was utter rot but I do believe that humans, like all animals, have that internal desire to survive, even if it means others might suffer.” 

Menzies lets his head fall to the back of the window seat with a dull thud. Judd is still staring at him and their eyes meet before Judd has the chance to look away. He should look away. He doesn't. 

“That’s what I did,” Menzies continues. The curve of his throat bobs as he speaks. “Gathered my food first. Protected my interests. I didn’t mean for Bennett to get caught in the crossfire but that is the way of the world sometimes. He’ll understand eventually, I’m sure.” 

Judd isn’t thinking clearly. The perfect argument against this is lodged in his mind somewhere but he can’t find it to save his life. “You do see how that’s not much better, I hope.” 

“Of course. I wish it could have been different but I was doing what I needed to do. I don’t regret that at all.” Judd bites his lip, turns to face front again, and tries to ignore the weight of Menzies’ gaze. It doesn’t last long; Menzies rolls his head towards the ceiling and raises the flask as if he were about to give a speech. “Christ, I think I may be drunker than I thought. I only talk about Darwin when I’m half-pissed.” 

Wordlessly, Judd reaches for the flask and Menzies lets him have it with no contest. It’s still half full so Judd takes a long drink, relishes the head-swimming, world-softening warmth of the liquor settling in his stomach, a warmth that can’t possibly be from anything else so he should stop worrying about it. He doesn’t. 

“Judd,” Menzies says and this time Judd returns his full attention to their conversation. Menzies has shifted his entire body to face Judd, his face tilted up and splashed with moonlight that cuts a sharp shadow across his cheekbones. They aren’t any closer than before but Judd feels as though he’s pitching forward, off-kilter and unstable, and he really should be more worried about this. 

“What?” 

“Has your hair ever seen a comb?” 

Judd frowns and opens his mouth to defend his hair, which is messy on purpose because one’s appearance is yet another facet of one’s life that capitalism seeks to exploit, but then Menzies is leaning forward and pressing his lips to Judd’s and the blurry world around him is bursting back into sharp, technicolor life. His breath catches in his throat, halfway between a gasp and a (humiliating) moan, but Menzies' lips are soft, warm, not at all the adolescent fumbling Judd expected from any and all of his classmates. Not at all the fragile touch of his usherette, the only other person Judd had been with in this way. This, he thinks, is nicer than Sarah’s small hands, her pink lipstick that always wore off on anything she pressed her lips to, in a purely objective evaluation. 

Menzies pulls back, looking, for once, like Judd has caught him in a truly damning position. “I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I don’t know what came over—” 

“Stop talking,” Judd says and kisses Menzies, all objectivism forgotten. Now he understands what Bennett meant: if this is what it means to be damned, Judd would rather earn his place in hell than stop now. 

The force of the kiss propels Menzies backward on the window seat and he wraps one arm around Judd’s shoulders to counteract the motion. Hands fumbling in the dark, movement without thinking, as if Judd has known how to do this all his life and never had the opportunity to prove it until now, and it’s messy and ill-advised and somewhere in there he’s screwing the cap back on the flask and putting it on the floor so he can push Menzies flush against the seat, wedged between Menzies’ legs with his hands busy on the buttons of Menzies’ shirt, no goal other than to touch and figure the rest out later. He’s embarrassingly hard and the window seat is much too small for Menzies not to be aware but there’s no room for explanation in the teasing bite of Menzies’ teeth. He gives as good as he gets: one ankle wrapped around the back of Judd’s thigh, one hand coiled in Judd’s offending hair and tugging just firm enough to make Judd’s eyes roll back in his head. He never knew intimacy, for lack of a better word, could be competition, could be such foreign violence that sets his blood on fire. He never knew he could have this. 

“Wait,” Menzies says against Judd’s mouth. “The flask, what—” 

Judd leans over the side of the window seat and is greeted by the horrific sight of Menzies’ shining flask leaking the remainder of its contents onto the carpeted floor of the Fourth Year library. Menzies sees this at the same time and they rush to extricate their limbs from one another's, scoop up the flask, tentatively poke the now soaking carpet with careful fingers wiped on pyjama flannel. 

“Damn,” Judd says. The smell is starting to permeate the entire room now and Judd can already see the Housemaster’s face when he realizes his students have been drinking on school grounds, in the hallowed library of all places. “Damn, damn, damn, Menzies, this is all your fault.” 

“My fault? Why did you put it on the ground?!” 

“You must have kicked it, we are absolutely—” 

“I didn’t kick it, it must have been you, put your robe on it.” 

It isn’t fair to use Judd’s robe but he does it anyway, even though the library is freezing without the extra layer. “This is why you shouldn’t drink in the library, especially in the dark.” 

“Thank you, Judd, for such enlightening information. What would I do without you.” 

“Don’t be glib.” 

“We’ll leave the windows open to air out the smell. You can keep the others out of the library for tomorrow at least, they’ll listen to you.” 

“And what do I tell Bennett?” 

Menzies raises an eyebrow. “You’re clever, aren’t you? Figure it out yourself.” 

“I really can’t stand you.” 

“I’m aware.” Menzies smooths his vest and redoes the buttons Judd had managed to loosen. He looks maddeningly put together, the previous minutes’ activities now nonexistent, replaced by the respectable head of house mask he wears during the day. “Leave your robe in here too; tell the others you must have misplaced it or something.” 

“Wait, you’re just going to leave?” 

A stupid question: Menzies is at the door already with only a cool glance spared over his shoulder for Judd, kneeling on the carpet in too many states of disarray to count. “Yes, I am. I can’t afford to get caught with Farcical looking for any way to keep me as a prefect.” 

“Protecting your interests.” 

“Now you’re getting it.” Menzies pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “For the record, I won’t pretend tonight meant nothing to me but I’m certainly not going to hold you to anything. Consider us even.” 

Then he’s gone. Judd slumps against the base of the window seat, now more drunk than excited, empty with the sensation of something being torn from his grasp before he had a chance to experience it. The smell of vodka is almost overpowering and Judd knows it’s going to take an obnoxious amount of maneuvering to ensure no one finds out about tonight, let alone pin Judd and Menzies for the flagrant disregard of house rules. This is a gift-wrapped expulsion that, in the wrong hands, would destroy everything. 

But that’s not what Judd finds himself thinking about. He rubs the back of his neck where Menzies had rested his hand, still warm from human contact. Judd is no stranger to Bennett’s descriptions of what he and Harcourt had gotten up to, but he hadn’t expected it to feel like that. Something real and as necessary as breathing. He is ruined with or without anyone else getting involved. 

Judd turns to his left and sees the book and statue he’d abandoned in favor of pressing his hands to Menzies’ chest. Lenin’s bronze glare is cold and judgmental. 

“Oh, shut up,” Judd says and stands to open the windows, indulging, for a moment, the memory of Menzies’ delicate form under his hands and his lips against Judd’s, knowing that Menzies was wrong. He isn’t foolish enough to pretend this meant nothing to him either.


End file.
